


three times is a tail

by Rowan Allard (itsemili)



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 03:07:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13091127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsemili/pseuds/Rowan%20Allard
Summary: Hogwarts School for Exceptional Young People was a fairly typical boarding school -- that was, of course, if every school taught advanced martial arts in PE, the latest in chemical warfare in science, and students received extra credit for breaking CIA codes in computer class. Hogwarts might claim to be a school for geniuses but it’s really a school for spies. [[[ SPY SCHOOL AU ]]]





	three times is a tail

 

 

Seeley knew everything.

Rowan wasn’t sure _how_ the blonde managed to get her information; it always seemed best not to ask - plausible deniability and all that. Plus, the explanation would most likely involve an in-depth analysis of sleuthing that Rowan would never be prepared for.

Granted, at eight in the morning, Rowan was hardly prepared for anything. Especially not the bright, foot-tall letters spelling out “HUNGARIAN” in all caps at the front of the great hall. Honestly, couldn’t they have started them off with something a bit easier, like French or Latin or the Zodiac Cypher?

“Látszólag van egy új professzor, azt mondják, hogy — nem hallgatja meg?” Seeley’s words were white noise to Rowan; faded into the background and easy to drown out. It wasn’t that she wanted to ignore her friend, it was simply that there was a more compelling conversation happening down the table from them between two boys - one in sunnies- that her ears had tuned into.

“— I had to make a choice: jump or get caught.”

Dax’s voice carried; even when he was rooms away, she could hear his over exaggerated tall tales. Every summer when students would return to school from break, there was Dax with his slimy smile and another story of him being a daring and dangerous spy.

Rowan, however, knew the truth. The only thing Daxter Gordon was, was a little shit. That was the only adequate descriptor of the twerp. Honestly, who pauses for dramatic effect when telling the story of their summer vacation? Dax does, that’s who.

Fletcher, or as she called him “Dax’s shadow”, was hanging onto the bespectacled boy’s ever word; he lapped up the fiction with the vigor and excitement of a small child on christmas. Rowan had to wonder how sad his life must have been to think Dax warranted that type of emotional response. The only type she could elicit in his presence was an exasperated groan.

That was exactly what slipped out of her, complete with the customary eye roll, as Fletcher prompted his friend with a “what did you do?”. She could practically feel the dark haired boy’s smirk; how she wanted to punch that look off his face just once.

“G’mornin’” Crumbs fell from Desmond’s mouth as he greeted them; the remnants of a mostly devoured donut landed on the table as he tossed himself haphazardly into the empty space next to Seeley.

“Nylev, Des.” Seeley scolded, her voice laced with a playful energy although her eyes stayed serious. The boy’s brow furrowed, confusion coloring his features as he attempted to process what had been said to him.

Rowan’s attention had been pulled back just enough to prompt her to clear her throat and point one long, painted finger at the overbearing language sign.

“Oh, right.” Desmond managed to extend every sleepy syllable, making the two word sentence seem like a royal speech. Both girls had turned to look at the boy - each one having their own internal conflict about what they saw in him; one more romantic than the other.

The process had taken just long enough for the letters overhead to pixelate and vanish, replaced with ‘ALL DIALECTS.’ A sigh of relief echoed through the room; the students who had been adhering to the language requirement - first years who didn’t know better and overachievers who did - were able to relax back into their native tongue.

Germanic and Slavic languages mixed together; accents from all over Britain blended into one staticky roar. Dax’s voice was audible even through the cacophonous din of the hall.

“And that’s why I’m not allowed back in Copenhagen.”


End file.
